


one flew over the crow's nest

by Katraa



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Juvenile Detention, Light Bondage, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Post-Game(s), Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:24:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katraa/pseuds/Katraa
Summary: It had taken a lot to get here, and would certainly take a great deal more to end the inertia.  It was a purgatory, of sorts, this cell, and Akira was the cog in the machine that would either mend him or break him.  Funny, how things work that way.POST-GAME AU:akechi lives and shares a room at the juvenile detention center with his least favorite person.  the road to getting better has never seemed so bleak.





	one flew over the crow's nest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twistingkage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistingkage/gifts).



> i had this idea on a whim and wanted to write it.  
> so it's going to be in three parts.  
> with the second the longest, and the first and third more of an intro and epilogue.  
> this will hurt before it gets better, i promise.
> 
> (i'm posting this as an early birthday celebration to myself  
> because screw work????)

“This is Ogawa’s daughter, Keiko.  She’s pursuing a career in pharmaceuticals.”

_Flip._

“Her and her Mother are near the poverty line and it’s been difficult for her to find funding.  She’s riding on a scholarship right now.”

_Flip flip._

“It’s been difficult for them since Ogawa passed away, as you can imagine.”

The scrape of metal feet on a cement floor filled the silence.  Auburn eyes lifted from the flimsy folder up to the searing stare of the Prosecutor, holding steady for longer than necessary as he pushed even further back in his chair.  Pale hands sporting identification bracelets on each wrung uselessly and moved to swipe a curtain of bangs out of his face.  

“I wouldn’t know.  I never did have a Father.” 

* * *

_Thunk!_

Akechi’s brows pinched together just as Moonlight Sonata reached a particularly noteworthy crescendo.  It took another thud to cause his eyes to flutter open.  The dull and artificial light of the room filtered in, the blinds still pulled given the early hour.  It was bright, all things considered, but not desirably so. 

“It seems that you’re finally awake, Kurusu.”

A third thud.  It didn’t take a genius, or a childhood detective, to quickly find the cause of the ruckus.  A small, red rubber ball continued to collide with the ceiling, bouncing hard and nearly shaking the old flush mound light that was older than Akechi with its force. 

“So I am, detective.”

The cut stung more than it should have.  

“I do not see how you sleep in,” Akechi began, lips drawn into a very thin line, teetering on the edge of palpable annoyance, “When there’s so much background noise.”

“The neighbors, you mean.”

“They’re among the list.”

“And the groundskeepers.” 

“Yes, them too.” 

“Probably the janitor—“

 _There_ was the line.  “I get the idea, Kurusu.”

He didn’t want to, but Akechi found his eyes sliding towards the left side of the room.  Akira Kurusu, wearing a pristine set of white clothes, stared back at him.  A grin, mocking and dripping with amusement, flashed back at him.  Akechi felt his skin crawl. 

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Yes, good—“ Akechi looked to the small music player on his chest to check the date, “—day fourteen.”

“I’m hurt you didn’t remember our two-week anniversary on gut instinct.”

Akechi sat up, his hair falling around his face.  It hid the sharp look in his eyes and the way he bit his lip so hard it almost bled.  Fourteen days.  It had been fourteen days in a glorified cell with the one person he hated most. 

But no, that wasn’t quite right.  Akira wasn’t his least favorite person nor was it _just_ a glorified cell.  

No, this was Goro Akechi’s personal hell, courtesy of one balding Judge. 

* * *

It had taken a great deal of bargaining, but he had eventually been able to strike a deal with the Prosecutor’s office courtesy of Sae Nijima.  So long as Akechi pled guilty for his involvement in the mental breakdowns - an accomplice, in other words - they would charge him with a lesser crime than murder with the mitigating factor that he was coerced and under duress.  The lack of physical evidence tying Shido and Akechi to the crimes weighed a great deal into the decision, too.  

Akechi would spend just as long as Akira Kurusu in juvenile detention and then be under surveillance for two years.  During those two years, he’d attend mandatory counseling and therapy and would live in the same building of Sae Nijima.  She’d supervise him, keep tabs on him, monitor him, and would report any odd behavior to the authorities.  It was a collar with a very short leash, but it wasn’t the death penalty and it wasn’t prison.  

Akechi wished he had died on that ship.   It certainly would have been easier. 

* * *

The tension between them was as thick as molasses.  They had yet to speak of the events of the ship, of those tumultuous weeks leading up to Akechi’s melodramatic reveal, but it was only a matter of time. For now, for two weeks, the two of them had been engaged in a very elaborate game of chicken that spanned feelings, frustrations and all matters personal. 

It was a cruel joke, certainly, that someone deigned it necessary to have the two boys share a room in the detention center.  Given their arrival dates and similarities, it made sense on paper.  No one thought to look off the four corner of the pages. 

And no one thought that Akira Kurusu was the last thing Goro Akechi needed or wanted. 

* * *

“You have to shake the dirt off the roots.  It’ll help them adjust faster to the new soil.”

Akechi’s grip on the tomato plant grew so tight it nearly snapped the stem.   It was humid and beads of moisture clung to the back of his neck.  A good excuse, really, for how angrily flushed his body grew. 

“I wasn’t aware you were such a botanist, Kurusu.”

“Mm.  Haru taught me.”

“Did she, now?” Akechi gave a near violent shake to the budding tomato plant.   “Forgive me, but I’m surprised any of you had time for hobbies when you were running around as masked vigilantes.”

A puff of air escaped Akira shortly after and Akechi barely registered that it was a laugh.  

“I’m surprised you had time for bouldering in between Exams and orchestrating the biggest conspiracy of Tokyo’s history between Exams.”

Akechi clicked his tongue.  “Touché.”

In went the withering plant, into a newly dug hole that was better suited for a plant this size. Akechi sat back on his haunches, dragging his wrist against his forehead to clear away the sweat.  It didn’t work, as imagined, and a self-deprecating sigh tore from his chest. 

“Tomato plants are actually pretty hardy,” Akira said as he pushed the new dirt around the plant, patting the earth to situate it shortly after. 

“Are they?” He was hardly listening, hardly cared, instead watching the way the sun dipped behind a cloud, just over the large wall that separated this place from the outside world.  A prison.  Criminals.  All of them.  _Delinquents._  

“Not as hardy as some herbs.  Especially catnip.”

Akechi faintly heard the word cat.  Slowly, his eyes moved to the shaggy haired boy seated across from him. “I’m surprised you didn’t petition to allow your cat here.”

“Oh, trust me, I tried.”

“And failed, I see.  Unless he’s covertly been under your bed this whole time?”

“Nah.  They didn’t believe me that I needed a therapy cat. Something about my reputation.”

Akira was like ice in a glass.  For a moment you could understand and appreciate the shape of it.  You could see its contours and know its temperature. But it was fleeting, and before you knew it, it changed, melted, became something new but equally useful.  He was as fluid as the water and as refreshingly different as the water was cold.  Even now, with all the transgressions and ugly jealousy and selfishness, Akechi knew there was a part of him that had been genuinely fascinated with the boy.  Akira had marched to an unheard beat and had never wavered. Not once.  Akira believed in those around him and fought passionately for his ideals, morals, loved ones. In every sense of the word he was Akechi’s opposite. 

And he truly did hate him for it. 

“You’ll have to give him my best wishes. I’m sure he’s grown quite skinny without your relentless feeding of overpriced sushi,” Akechi deadpanned.  His hands moved fluidly, wrapping his hair up into a ponytail high on the back of his head. 

He had stepped over a line, smashed a wall, broken the unspoken distance they had both so artfully wedged between them from the moment they arrived here. 

“...They ask about you sometimes, you know.”

Akechi didn’t respond. 

“They don’t hate you. I mean, I guess Futaba might, but she kinda has every right to.  Haru, too, but she isn’t really capable of hating someone.  And even if they do, they’re glad you’re not dead.  That you’re going to get the help—“

“Aloe vera is the hardiest of plants.”

Akechi rose to his feet, neatly placing his gardening tools into the bucket where he found them.  With the grace of a person he once believed himself to be, convinced himself he was, convinced _everyone_ he was, stepped over the flower bed and headed down the path leading back inside.  

And Akechi hated himself even more when he heard Akira’s voice in his head, sickeningly sweet, laughing and saying _Aloe vera? That’s meta, Akechi.  A burn and a balm all at once._

* * * 

“What are your interests?”

“I’m sorry?”

If record scratches could be heard, it would fill the cement walls around them. 

“We try to match our students with a tutor in the field they are most interested in.” That made sense, certainly. “That way, when their term is over, they can better reintegrate into society.”

A humorless laugh tore through him, starting low in his gut and ending with the tremble of his shoulders.  His hands shook terribly as they moved to cover his face.  He never said a word. 

Never once had he imagined a world where he had a future and was allowed to pursue a passion or career. The very idea of it had an ugly mess of feelings coiling in his stomach and bursting out through his windpipe in a caricature of a laugh.  To him, he had always been a deadman with at timer strapped to his forehead. 


End file.
